Page 1 of Heart of a Defender

CHAPTER 1

THE ASSIGNMENT

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Madison

I slam my car door shut, regretting the decision to wear heels to the press conference. The chilly wind cuts through my coat as I approach the arena, where the local hockey team, the Sable Creek Saints, is holding a pre-season event. I should be excited. A high-profile assignment like this is a golden opportunity for any sports journalist. But covering hockey? Not my first choice. Or my second. Or my tenth.

My phone buzzes with a message from my editor, Dave: Don’t screw this up.

Great. No pressure.

The arena looms ahead, a massive domed structure practically a second home for the town's hockey enthusiasts. As I step inside, the familiar scent of ice and rubber hits me, bringing back memories I’d rather suppress forever. I weave through the crowd of reporters, noticing their practical shoes and button-down shirts.

Why did I choose impractical footwear and a skirt? I stand out like a sore thumb.

I spot the media area, where the players will soon parade in front of us for interviews, and take my spot, elbow to elbow with journalist rivals. I take a deep breath and straighten my notebook. It's showtime.

The press conference starts with the usual pleasantries from the team’s PR manager. He then introduces the players one by one. When he gets to Zachary Brooks, the crowd perks up. He’s the team’s star player, and by the looks of it, he knows it. He strides onto the stage with an easy confidence that makes me cringe. He flashes a smile that probably melts hearts faster than the ice he skates on. But not mine.

I hold back the urge to roll my eyes. Arrogant athletes are my least favorite people. I’m way past being the fawning type.

Journalists hurl questions at the team, most of them softball fluff, not questions that make for compelling, career-defining articles. I wait for a lull, then raise my hand. “Zachary, Madison Collins, Sable Creek Times. Last season ended in disappointment for the Saints. What changes are you making to ensure this year’s outcome is different?”

His smile fades a fraction. He locks eyes with mine, and for a moment, I’m caught off guard by the intensity of his stare. Or is it more of a glare? Two can play that game.

“It’s Zach,” he says coolly. “We’re focusing on teamwork and discipline. Last year, we had some issues with consistency, but we’re determined to fix that.”

What kind of canned, non-answer is that? I press on.

“Can you be more specific, Zach? What steps are you personally taking to improve?” Come on. Give me something I can use.

Zach’s jaw tightens. Good, he feels the pressure, too.

“I’m working on my game every day, refining my skills, and staying in peak physical condition.” Yep, his stare is definitely a glare pinpointed at me. “This season’s about pushing myself and my teammates to be better.”

I nod, jotting down notes. He’s good at handling the press. I’ll give him that. But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more beneath the surface, something he’s not saying. He’s too calm and calculated.

Sure, I get it. He’s been coached with soundbites, nothing too telling and nothing new. Working on his game, he says. It’s all about the team. Yadda yadda. I scribble in my notebook like he’s just spewed out the solution to The Collatz Conjecture, a mathematics equation the greatest minds in the world have been unable to solve.

I’m not getting anywhere with him, so I save my questions for later and give up the floor. The conference continues with more generic questions and polished answers. It’s a yawn fest, but I’m here to do my job. When things finally wrap up, I gather my satchel and head towards the exit, only to find Zach standing in my path.

“You’re the new reporter covering us, right?” His tone is neutral, but there’s a challenge in his eyes.

Beautiful, deep, penetrating eyes. Dammit, why does he have to be so handsome? Why couldn’t he be a cocky jerk with missing teeth and a crooked nose that’s been broken a kajillion times?

“That’s right,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, reminding myself what jerks hockey players can be. “Got a problem with that?”

“Just making sure you’re not here to stir up trouble.”

Why is he concerned? Does he have something to hide?

“Depends on what you consider trouble, I guess.” I brush past him, my heart pounding. I get a whiff of his aftershave or shampoo. It doesn’t matter which it is. My lungs only care about how good he smells. Geez, he could at least reek of sweat or something.

I walk quickly to my car, feeling the heat of his stare on my backside. I refuse to give him the pleasure of knowing he’s got me riled, but replay our brief exchange as I pull out of the parking lot. Zach Brooks is definitely going to be a handful. He’s not going to make things easy for me. But I won’t let him intimidate me. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am.

I just have to remember that this is a job. Keep it professional, keep it distant. No matter how good-looking or intense Zach Brooks is, he’s just another athlete with an inflated view of his self-importance. I’m not here to make friends or stroke his ego. I’m here for a story.

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